Tears and Tupperware
Anyone who has ever had young children around their house knows the wondrous entertainment value of a lower kitchen cabinet filled with Tupperware. Now days, it is most likely also filled with Rubbermaid and other knock-offs, but for the sake of simplicity, we just call it all Tupperware. If you have the courage and open mindedness to let your cabinet be in a perpetual state of disarray… your children, grandchildren, nieces, nephews, etc can have a world of fun with those convenient plastic containers and matching colorful lids. Throw in a couple of plastic cups, a spatula, a large plastic spoon, a funnel and a turkey baster, and you have the makings for hours of play.
At 9 months, my grandson would open the cabinet (the only one that wasn’t safety tied up or locked), throw as many things on the floor as he could reach, and then settle in for some real baby fun. He would bang the containers together – try to put the lids on - turn the larger ones upside down and beat on them with the spatula. Squeezing the turkey baster and feeling the air come out the end made him giggle. He was completely and joyfully engaged in the process of destroying my kitchen.
As he got older, he began preparing meals for me – using the big pitcher for imaginary apple juice or milk and pouring it into a cup for me – proudly serving out pretend pizza with a large spatula - and bringing me homemade ice cream and a gigantic plastic spoon to eat it with. So many delightful meals of imaginary peanut butter sandwiches, hot dogs, and delicious invisible cake. So many smiles each time I told him how yummy his food was. So many good times with my own personal chef and "Best Beau."
By the time his sister was old enough to stand by herself, Sebastian was more interested in the dragons that lived in my yard and the dinosaur eggs we found hidden among the river rocks in my planters. But his sister took over the care and service of the Tupperware cabinet. Savannah loved the plastic containers, and assumed Sebastian’s place on the kitchen floor. She was just over a year old when their family moved to the Midwest, so we never ate the imaginary meals I shared with her “Bubby” – but still, my Tupperware cabinet was blessed by her energy.
Yesterday I needed a container for some Greek salad left over from lunch with a friend. The cabinet that holds my “Tupperware” was in pretty much the same shape it was in when the grandkids moved away 9 months ago. For all those months I had kept the pieces I used most often toward the front of the top shelf, so I could just dig in quickly to find what I wanted, promising myself each time that my next project would be to organize those storage containers. But yesterday, I was hot and tired, and I couldn’t find a lid for the container I was holding in my hand. I got frustrated by the disarray – and next thing I knew, I was throwing containers and lids and everything else out onto the floor in frustration, tears running down my face. At first I thought it was just because I was aggravated with the mess, but then I realized my tears had deeper roots. Emptying that cabinet was just another affirmation that there would be no more grandchildren playing in my Tupperware. There would be no more meals cooked for me in pretend ovens or removed from pretend refrigerators with small sweet hands. There would be no more “Here Mawney – I hab a peanut butter sammich for you – and some ice cweam too!” Emptying that cabinet was another step in my grief process about becoming the “far far away” Grandmother. I was undoing what they had done – and it would never be done that way again.
Sorting through this odd collection of containers, lids, spoons, and other odds and ends is a bittersweet exercise. Here is the blue wine glass Sebastian used to serve my pretend “appa juice.” Here are two of the plastic containers from Savannah’s organic baby food. Over there are two of the small rectangular cups with red lids that held Sebastian’s gluten free animal crackers, and next to that, the red plastic funnel that made such a funny hat. And sticking out of the big blue pitcher is one of Sebastian’s drum sticks - in the form of a white plastic spatula with the half-melted handle from falling on a burner many years ago. I would never ever part with these precious memories – no matter how wet my eyes get as I look at them. How is it possible for your heart to laugh and cry all at the same time?
Some people may think that crying over Tupperware is pretty sappy. Maybe it is. I really have no reason to worry about my grandchildren. They have creative loving parents and plenty of people in their Minnesota family who care for and adore them. We talk on the phone at least once a week - I send them little gifts and cards “just because” – and we are still part of each other’s lives. This is just one of those “Mawney” things. It’s just me, coping with missing them - missing the sound of their laughter - the excited look when they see me - the feel of their arms around me - the joy of their presence in my daily round.
Life does not always feel fair. Have you noticed? Sometimes it seems pretty merciless as it metes out day to day challenges. Sometimes all you can do is grab on and hang on for dear life. And sometimes, the best you can do is to remind yourself over and over that everything is happening as part of a much bigger, better and smarter plan laid out by a much bigger, better and smarter God ... no matter how wrong it seems from where you are right now... and no matter how many tears you cry over the Tupperware.
